


Crave Excess

by Blackberreh



Series: Born in Flames [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (only mentioned), Heat Fic, Knotting, M/M, Past Sexual Assault, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Strength Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24171388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackberreh/pseuds/Blackberreh
Summary: It first started with the overheating.Rodimus should have expected the heat. He didn't, but he should have. Pity there was no-one among his crew that he trusted enough to help him deal with it - that especially meant his new bloodyco-captain.He doesn't trust Megatron. Hedoesn't.(Surprisingly, he kind of does.)
Relationships: Megatron/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Series: Born in Flames [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934851
Comments: 47
Kudos: 491





	Crave Excess

**Author's Note:**

> YAY THIS 8K MONSTER IS FINALLY DONE.
> 
> This was just. Supposed to be your generic smutty heat fic. I started writing it at five in the morning one day, and continued that trend until it just grew and grew and this is the damn result.
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy my first smutty TF fic. I had a blast writing it lmao

It first started with the overheating.

It made no sense to Rodimus. His frame had been forged to endure the heat of asteroid surfing, so it was just - confusing to him why his cooling fans kept coming on at the most inopportune times. While on the bridge, during officers meetings, at Swerve’s…. Just a _click, whirr_ and suddenly everyone was staring at him as if he had committed some sort of perverse crime.

It had been Hell to stave off inquiries. A dismissive 'just haven't been feeling great. Maybe I'm coming down with something? It'll pass I'm sure,’ didn't cut it.

"You should go see Ratchet." Ultra Magnus finally said after Rodimus had to manually command the fans off for the fifth time that meeting.

Hah, fat load of chance doing that. Things had been _weird_ since the whole 'datapad full of fake names' thing, and Rodimus just didn't…

He just didn't.

He waved off Magnus' words, firmly ignored Megatron's narrowed look, and begged off, saying he was going to go lie down.

And he was. He just hadn't accounted for the fact that it would be on the floor in the middle of a random hallway somewhere between his office and hab suite. He had never known it to be so blessedly _cool_ , and totally didn't want to move for like… at _least_ a few hours.

"Er, captain…?" That was the newly awoken Tailgate's voice, wasn't it? Rodimus didn't want to look up. "Are you alright?"

Without lifting his face from the heavenly cold floor, Rodimus gave the minibot a thumbs up.

"... Are you sure, Captain?" Ah. Cyclonus' voice. Of course, Tailgate wouldn't be alone without his ever present dour shadow. Aah, young love was so cute.

Rodimus gave a muffled noise of assent, and to prove it, pushed himself up - the mood had been ruined anyway - only for all the strength to leave his limbs, and for him to fall back on his face.

Hmm. That was an issue.

"... Actually, could I get some help?" He said after a beat of silence.

There was a muffled giggle, and then Rodimus was scooped up by a pair of really strong arms and oh boy _that_ was an unexpectedly nice sensation. Cyclonus' plating was as cool as the floor had been, and Rodimus didn't think as he shifted and snuggled into that armour with a happy hum.

There was more silence, and no movement.

Rodimus onlined his optics (since when had he shut them off?) And saw the most peculiar expression on Cyclonus' face. Rodimus had a chance to meet those searching red optics before - _click, whir_ , on went his cooling fans.

Rodimus covered his face with a servo and let out an embarrassed groan. "Please take me to my hab suite and forget this ever happened?"

There was no arguing to meet his request at least. It was a blessedly silent and quick walk, and Rodimus keyed in his code at the door, allowing Cyclonus to carry him inside and place him gently on his berth. There was a moment when Rodimus' frame cried out for the continued contact, for Cyclonus to pin him to the berth and-

_Woah, hang on a tic, rewind and pause._

_What??_

"Thanks." Rodimus squeaked and very much _did not_ look at Cyclonus or Tailgate and very much just threw his arm over his optics so he didn't accidentally meet their gazes. His interface array was sending a veritable storm of pings to his HUD, begging to open, and _no thank you_ Rodimus was _not having that_.

Silence. Talkative pair these two, weren't they? 

"I believe it would be best if you saw Ratchet." Cyclonus finally said. "He will be able to help."

"Yep, mmhmm, sure." Rodimus chirped with a false cheer he did not feel. "Will do, just gonna rest a bit. Thanks guys!"

That was very much a dismissal, and thankfully they took it as such, leaving Rodimus alone with the dawning reality of what he was going through.

_He was going into heat._

The inhibitor patch must have worn off without him realizing. To be fair, what with the end of the war and new quest and all that, it wasn't much of a surprise that he _had_ forgotten. He shouldn't have, but he did. Rodimus had only ever experienced one heat before, and it had been a wholly unpleasant experience that he didn't quite remember, and that he didn't _want_ to remember.

But this - this was totally _fine._ He didn't need to go to Ratchet - people endured heats without the help of any medical mumbo jumbo all the time! _It was fine._ All he had to do was continue on as normal until it became too much to bear, and then he would lock himself in his hab suite while saying that he had the flu or something. Mechs didn't get the flu, at least not the kind he was thinking of, but - _but whatever._

Yeah. He could do it. He could do it, and he would be totally fine!

* * *

He was not, it would seem, 'totally fine.'

He was doing okay at first. As well as could be expected with his interface protocols mangled by the heat coding and making him go into a lust fit every time he saw a mech that could be a 'suitable mate'. It made him unable to look anyone in the optic for fear that they would see his lusty thoughts.

Then there were the _pheromones_ . Primus but Rodimus _hated_ them. It was one thing for his fans to kick on at inopportune moments - it was another to have them _constantly_ going and he couldn't have that because it was like the pheromones tried to escape every single gap in his armour to spread all their nasty little spores into the air. So he had to keep his armour clamped as tightly to his frame as he could, making him burn all the hotter, and _still_ it didn't stop them! There was just suddenly a day where Rodimus found himself the centre of _everyone's_ attention.

And that was bad - very very bad, because that meant that his steely determination to act like everything was normal wasn't going to happen, because everyone knew _something_ was up with their captain. Well. Co-captain.

So, despite his perfectly fine capacity to act out his duties, Rodimus was forced to retreat not even two days after his realisation. Primus! He hadn't even lasted two days! That was pathetic!

In hindsight, it was probably a good decision to retreat to his habsuite then and there. It was while sneaking through the less trafficked halls that the heat decided to hit full force, leaving Rodimus a shaking, dripping mess. It had been a wave of vertigo and - yes, heat - that had taken Rodimus nearly off his pedes. His legs almost fell out from underneath him, and he swayed forwards into an almost crouch, bracing his hands on his knees and panting for cooler air. His armour, clamped down as tight as he could manage it, flared out, expelling boiling air and with it, the pheromones. Behind his interface panel, lubricant was pooling in such copious amounts it had began leaking out from the seams and - 

He needed to get to his habsuite. _Now_.

He just… he just needed to move. He needed a moment. That was all.

"Rodimus?"

... _couldn't even give him a moment, huh?_

It took a lot of willpower to steady himself and stand tall. His legs shook from the effort. The smile he plastered on his face was strained at best, and the laugh he gave even more so. "H-hey Megs. Don't mind me, I'm just - g-going to get some rest-"

Megatron took a step forward, his optics overbright.

Rodimus took a step back, sheer terror-need-want striking through his spark.

He knew what happened when a mech was exposed to a full dose of heat pheromones. He'd tried so hard to keep his vents closed and armour clamped but - slag it all, why couldn't he last until he got to his habsuite? _Why did it have to be Megatron that came across him?_

Megatron took another step forward.

Rodimus' back hit the wall.

The terror-need-want swelled as Megatron closed the distance between them, his frame so large he dwarfed Rodimus. The expression he wore was intense, almost hypnotized, and Rodimus couldn't do anything as those large hands encircled his waist and-

Rodimus gasped as his back scraped up the wall. He had enough processor power left to register that his paint was likely scratched up, his spoiler stung a bit - and then that was the _last_ thing on his mind as Megatron's thick thigh wedged between his legs, forcing them open, the thick plating pressing right up against his interface panel.

Rodimus didn't even remember opening it. All he registered was blessed cool metal pressing against the hot, dripping mesh of his valve lips, and Rodimus whined and ground down with as much give as Megatron's hold allowed him. His hands lifted, grasping ahold of Megatron's broad shoulders, and he threw his helm back when lips pressed insistently to his neck cables. The lips were as cool as the body he clung too, and in contrast the tongue that licked across him was almost searing hot. The noise that escaped Rodimus' vocalisor was one of desperate want, and it broke off into a static laced keen when he felt sharp dentae press into the metal of an energon line.

Rodimus arched against him. "Please-" he gasped, not knowing if he wanted to stop or to- "Don't-"

Megatron froze.

A minute tremor crept over that massive frame, and the hands on Rodimus' waist tightened. Rodimus worked his intake, the terror-need-want no less powerful, but with that pressure against his valve Rodimus couldn't stop the small, jerky motions of his hips as he tried to grind against Megatron - tried to chase even a tiny bit of pleasure.

There was a loud, shakey ex-vent. Megatron's hands moved from Rodimus' waist to his hips, putting a stop to it. An involuntary noise of frustration escaped Rodimus, and he struggled against that grip for a moment before giving up, his helm falling against the cool expanse of Megatron's chest with a soft clink.

"You're in heat." Megatron's voice was strained, laced with static. His grip was tight on Rodimus’ hips, almost hard enough to dent, and for some reason the fact that he was so easily able to mech-handle Rodimus with no effort whatsoever _shouldn’t_ have gotten Rodimus’ engine revving as hard as it currently was. 

“Gee, what gave it away.” Rodimus quipped weakly. He tried - again - to rut against Megatron's thigh, and whined pathetically when he couldn’t even budge. But - but that was a good thing. It _was_ . Even if his entire frame and coding was protesting that fact. “You stopped?”  
  
Why did that sound like a question?  
  
Megatron let out a vague hum, and Rodimus lifted his helm to squint up at the former tyrant. His expression had become oddly focused again, optics burning bright as he gazed down at Rodimus and tightened his hold - before his field flared with agitation and - and _disgust_ , and Rodimus found himself placed back on his feet and Megatron stepped back, creating some distance between them.

Rodimus had to use the wall for support because there was no way that his legs were going to be able to keep him upright. They trembled under his weight, streaked with lubricant that was still _dripping from his valve because his interface was still very much bared_ , and no matter how Rodimus tried he couldn’t _get_ it to close. And Primus, his lubricant was all over Megatron’s _thigh_ as well and -

“Rodimus.”  
  
His thoughts having drifted to certain ‘what if’ scenarios had Megatron kept him pinned to the wall, Rodimus was startled by Megatron’s voice. His attention snapped back to his co-captain, and he worked his intake, tried to smile, tried to speak but -

His vocalisor clicked and stuttered, and he couldn’t keep his smile for more than a second. Something flashed through him, hot in a way the heat was, and it caused his tanks to churn. He couldn’t help but avert his optics, wanting to hide as much as he wanted Megatron to pin him to the wall and utterly ravage him -

“ _Rodimus._ Captain. Look at me.”

A shudder worked through him, but Rodimus complied.

He couldn’t parse what the expression was on Megatron’s face. He looked focused, his lips pressed tightly together. He crossed his arms over his broad chassis and stood tall - looking very much like he wasn’t going to move a single inch.

Rodimus’ plating flared a little more, his fans whirling a little faster, trying to entice -

_Stop that -_

He groaned, cycled his optics, and said, “Y-yeah, Megs?”

His co-captain seemed pleased that he had gotten a response. “You are going to listen to me. I know it is in your nature to rebel against any and every order given to you, but if you want this to pass in any relative peace, you will _listen_. Am I clear? Can you give me an answer?”

Since Megatron wasn’t coming any closer, and there was no way Rodimus could close the distance between them without crawling (and Primus but he still had _some_ dignity left), he had to shove his servos behind him to keep them from creeping to his valve to relieve even an ounce of the ache emanating from there. But yes, yes Megatron was clear, and the part of Rodimus that tried to rear up whenever an authority figure tried to assert dominance over him was oddly silent, so he gave a jerky nod in answer.

“Good.” Megatron said, and a thrill crawled down Rodimus’ spinal strut, and more lubricant trickled from his valve to the small puddle down on the ground. “I am going to have the halls cleared. You are going to go to your habsuite. You will lock yourself in. I will have Ratchet check up on you. This will pass, and you will get through this. Alright?”

Megatron was… helping him.

Granted, not in the way his body very much _wanted_ him to, but still. Helping.

Huh.

Rodimus worked his intake. He couldn’t speak anything of substance, so instead he pulled a shaking servo out from behind him and gave his co-captain a thumbs up.

He thought he heard a snort as he turned away and slowly - painstakingly so - began to make his way down the corridor, using the wall for support. As much as his very being didn’t want to leave Megatron - as much as he wanted to try and entice the larger mech and beg him to frag him six ways to sunday - Rodimus made his way to his hab suite. 

And if his respect for Megatron had kicked up several notches - for overcoming the heat pheromones, for stopping - then no-one had to know. 

* * *

"Sorry kid, the heat's too far along its course. There's nothing I can do."

Rodimus' head fell back against the berth with a dull thunk, and it was all he could do to hold back a pathetic whine. He was thankful that medics were apparently more resistant to the heat pheromones than regular bots were, and had relaxed in the other bot's presence as much as he was able to - despite it being Ratchet and their current tenuous relationship. He had hoped the medic would be able to do _something,_ but that was a fool's hope apparently.

Ratchet was unsympathetic as he subspaced his scanner. "You brought this on yourself, _captain._ If you had just come to me when you first started experiencing symptoms we could have tried diverting it and held it back until a better time." His expression soured. "Do you truly think that little of me that I couldn't keep a professional relationship? I'm a _medic_ , Rodimus, I would never let something as… as _silly_ as a little _tiff_ prevent me from doing what needs to be done."

Rodimus would hardly call it a 'tiff'. It was more like…. _Finding-out-someone-who-you-considered-a-friend-saw-you-unfit-for-captaincy-and-even-though-he-was-right-it-still-bloody-hurt-and-everytime-he-saw-him-the-hurt-was-brought-back_.

Yeah. That.

But Rodimus couldn't just _say_ that, and nor could he keep his silence, even though it was hard to think through the fog in his processor and it took a great deal of his minimal brain power to keep his servos from twitching to his valve in an effort to relieve some of the need. He had _company_ after all. It was rude.

"It wasn't that." He grit out and clasped his servos together. So he could fight the urge better. "I just didn't recognize what it was at first, and I thought that whatever it was would just - just pass and things would be fine. When am I ever not fine, y-you know?"

Ratchet gave him a dull, unimpressed stare. "You're always fine. Right. Kind of hard to forget the symptoms of a heat."

Rodimus returned his unimpressed stare with one of his own. "Yeah, well, when you've only ever had one and then take suppressants for the next four million years, it's kind of hard to remember what that first and only time was like, you know?"

Considering he had done his level best to _forget_ that time...

The CMO looked mildly contrite at his words, and he sighed and pinched his nasal ridge. "Alright. Alright, fine. Nothing for it, I guess. There are two ways you can go about this. First, you can lock yourself in and wait it out. I can engage a medical quarantine and I can provide you with energon and coolant, and it shouldn't last more than a week. Second, I can get someone you trust to come in and help you, reducing the heat to only a few days."

Rodimus let out a laugh. It sounded hysterical, even to his own audials. 

If only Drift were here. If Drift were here, responsibility of captaining the ship would have fallen to him. Welp, not now that Megatron was co-captain, but… Drift would have kept an eye on things for him with Magnus. And if Rodimus had wanted the… the help, he would have…

Hah. Primus, hindsight was a fragging bitch.

The way Ratchet was looking at him like he'd sprouted a second head was kind of worrying, so Rodimus stopped. He pressed a hand over his optics and let out a shuddering ex-vent, and said, "I'll deal with it myself. It'll be fine. Lock me in."

He pulled his hand away to see the tail end of Ratchet's concerned look, before it shifted into something more neutral. "Alright. Just know that if you change your mind, I can look for someone to help you." He pressed his lips together. "You needn't suffer alone, Rodimus. But just know… once the quarantine is in place, no one will be able to unlock the door without a medical's help. You'll be on your own."

Couldn't have bots going crazy from heat pheromones… yep, couldn't have that.

Rodimus waved him off, trying to appear nonchalant and probably failing miserably. "Yep. Got it. I'll be fine."

The look Ratchet gave him was very dubious, and Rodimus tried not to agree with it. He'd be fine. He _would_ be.

* * *

He most definitely - most assuredly - was _not_ fine.

Rodimus had overloaded so many times he had lost count. The first few had brought some minutes of blessed relief, but the minutes in between where the need rose up and the need to overload came again were becoming shorter and shorter. He had plenty of interface toys to help, plenty of false spikes and vibrators, but as more time passed, they grew less and less satisfying - and Rodimus craved the hot, living metal of a real spike, which his heat coding very much amplified, and-

Rodimus hated this. He hated the need, hated the helplessness, hated that he craved so desperately for someone to come and _save_ him from it. He could handle it by himself. He didn’t _need_ help.

But Primus, he wanted it. 

Another unsatisfactory overload washed over him, and Rodimus withdrew the false spike from his aching valve with a groan. His callipers clenched down on nothing, charge still buzzing across his frame, and he pressed his face against the berth covering to muffle a sob. This was the worst. This was _terrible_. 

Who would he even get to help him? Who could he even trust?

Unbidden, the memory of a set of numbers carved into his palm came to mind, and he thunked his head against the berth. Right. Yeah. There were probably around a hundred and one bots who maybe wouldn’t _mind_ helping him, but frag if he knew who they were. Based on bots that Rodimus knew in general… Ultra Magnus might. But Rodimus couldn’t help but picture Ultra Magnus being too flustered to do anything, even with the pheromones driving him.

Ratchet, or First Aid. The medics would have a clear head, but Rodimus didn’t want to make things even _more_ awkward between him and Ratchet, and he barely knew First Aid…

Rung? Unassuming and unmemorable as hell, but kind. Trustworthy. Maybe he would -

 _‘What about Megatron?’_ His mind unhelpfully supplied. 

And that was such a - such an utterly ridiculous, stupid thought! _Megatron_ ? Why the frag would he want _Megatron_ of all mechs helping him through his heat?

Unbidden, his processor brought up the memory files of that time in the hall - when Megatron had him pinned to the wall, his grip firm but servos gentle, the cool expanse of his armour against Rodimus’ heated frame. The blazing inferno of his lips pressing against Rodimus’ neck cables.

And then the absence of all of that, when Megatron had stopped, and placed Rodimus down.

A giggle escaped him, this one definitely hysterical. 

Damn, that was the cincher, wasn’t it? 

Megatron had stopped, when Rodimus had said to. That… that mattered. That mattered more than anything.

Right then. That meant… that meant what, exactly? That Rodimus would take Megatron to berth? Notorious mass murdering ex-warlord responsible for the destruction of their world and the deaths of billions?

Hah! 

Ratchet answered his comm quickly. _“What is it? Are you alright? Do you need me to-”_

“I want Megatron.” Rodimus said before he could lose his conviction.

There was silence on Ratchet’s end. Likely wondering if he’d heard Rodimus right. _“Come again?”_

Rodimus let out a shuddering ex-vent. His valve practically throbbed, wanting to be filled again, and he plunged in some fingers without much thought, groaning at the buzz of pleasure. “I want you to - t-to ask Megatron to help me with my h-heat.”

 _“Megatron.”_ Ratchet repeated flatly. There was a burst of frustrated air. _“Listen, captain, I know your processor’s pretty much fried from everything right now, but asking Megatron of all mechs to help is one of the most ridiculous things I have ever heard from your goddamned mouth-”_

“Ratchet-” Rodimus hated how pleading he sounded. How desperate. He cleared his vocaliser and worked his fingers, biting back a whimper. Ratchet was thankfully silent as he tried to get his words to work again. “Ratchet, he - he stopped. Back in the hall when I - he stopped, when I said to. That - that -”  
  
_That was important_ , he tried to say. _That mattered, more than anything_.

There was silence from Ratchet’s end for a while, before there was a low muttered curse. _“Alright. I’ll ask him. But Rodimus-”_ Another angry curse that would have had Rodimus snorting in any other situation. _“There’s no guarantee that he’ll say yes. What then, huh? Is there anyone else you want me to ask?”_  
  
Rodimus shuddered and buried his face against the padding. “We’ll - I’ll deal with that if it comes to it. Thanks Ratch.”

 _“Thanks my aft.”_ Ratchet grumbled and cut the comm link.

Rodimus didn’t know how long he waited. He brought himself to another unsatisfactory overload and sat in a puddle of his own lubricants as his cooling fans struggled against the heat wracking his frame, and tried not to think about how much of a stupid mistake this was. Even though his frame and coding very much agreed with Megatron as a mate ( _big, powerful, in control_ ), his processor very much did not agree.

He’ll never be able to look Megatron in the eye after this was over. Whether he agrees or not.

There was a chime at his door after what felt like _too long_ . Rodimus had the false spike up his valve again, pumping it in and out, trying to get it to align with those inner nodes that barely get any attention and almost sobbing in frustration when they just _wouldn’t_. His hand froze on the base when the door opened, allowing the bright light from the hall to filter into the room, and Rodimus yelped.

_Right. Ratchet had medical override codes-_

The light was blocked by a hulking figure - Rodimus could barely hear over the static of charge through his frame, and he stared with wide optics. His spark felt like it was flaring in his intake as the figure that could only be Megatron stepped into the room, allowing the door to slide shut behind him and fill the room with darkness once more.

All Rodimus could see were the dim red of Megatron’s optics - trained right on him.

Rodimus shuddered and clenched his thighs together - the false spike still deep within him, sending small jolts of pleasure along his sensor net. He pressed his thighs together because all he wanted to do just then was spread them and beg to be filled and taken _over and over and over_ -

“Rodimus.” Megatron’s voice was gruff, and he remained exactly where he was by the door. The very picture of restraint. Even when shut in a room full of heat pheromones in full swing. Rodimus wanted to coo at him and beckon him closer, but grit his dentae and _didn’t_ . “I don’t know why you asked for _me_ of all mechs, and I’m not sure this is an entirely wise decision, and I have to ask - are you certain you want this?”

  
Hah. Asking if Rodimus was certain? Megatron showed such courtesy for an ex-tyrant. It was kind of funny. But Rodimus wasn’t laughing - Rodimus was desperate. Thankfully he was in control of his frame enough to keep from jumping his co-captain. He’d already embarrassed himself enough as it was.  
  


“Yes.” Rodimus managed to get out. He shifted - scooching back on the berth, away from the puddle of lubricants. The false spike shifted within him, and he bit back a whine, and beckoned Megatron closer. “C-come on, you’re not just - just gonna stand there, are you?”  
  
Red, red optics watched him intently. Like they were searching for _something_. A wave of self-consciousness swept over Rodimus, and he squirmed, pulling his legs up a little and gripping his knees with shaking servos. His feet hid his valve sufficiently, but his array felt so very exposed and - god damn it he wanted to be touched.

“L-listen.” Rodimus said when Megatron made no move to - well, move. Something swelled within him, anxiety and a little bit of self loathing and a hell of a lot of desperation. “What - what more do you want? You want me to admit that - that I can’t really trust anyone on my crew to have my best interests at heart? That that’s a s-shitty view to have about members of my own crew? Well you’re right! Y-You’re slagging right because logically I know not _everyone’s_ out to take advantage of me but I - I can’t help it! And you-!”  
  
He pointed a shaking finger at the motionless ex-warlord. “You just - you just _stopped_ ! You didn’t try to frag me, you didn’t - didn’t hurt me, you didn’t drag me away someplace dark to have your wicked way with me! You just - you stopped when I said ‘don’t’! _You_ ! And - and now I can’t think of wanting anyone else other than you! There - there, are you _happy?!_ ”

His chassis heaved as he struggled to invent after that explosion, frame hot and still very much thrumming with charge. He wanted to shrink down into a hole and never come out. He wanted Megatron to bend him over the berth and frag him until nothing mattered. He wanted so many things, and all he could do was just sit there and shake.

How pathetic was he?

But Megatron - Megatron finally moved. And it was a heavy step in his direction, a look to his optics that Rodimus couldn’t identify. His frame tensed as Megatron slowly closed the distance between them and - and it couldn’t have been easy. This close in the dim lighting, Rodimus could see how tensely he held himself, the way the corners of his mouth were tight, the way his optics flickered with _desire_ and -

 _Yes,_ the primitive part of Rodimus’ processor, currently overrun with heat coding, preened. _Perfect choice. He won’t hurt me_.

Finally, Megatron came to a stop before the berth, and he was so large, his sheer size so dominating Rodimus wanted to pull him down and be smothered by him. Megatron stopped by the berth, and he didn’t move. His servos were clenched into fists. This close, Rodimus could see them trembling minutely.

“You want me,” He began roughly. “Because I show some restraint?”

Rodimus flicked his spoiler in a shrug, unable to move hungry optics away from the towering figure. He licked his lips. “You stopped. You… you’ll stop if I want you to.”

Megatron bared his dentae in frustration. _Oh, fangs_ , Rodimus noted with a bolt of sheer lust. He wanted to lick them. “Just because I stopped before doesn’t mean I will later. The pheromones wear down on you the more you’re exposed to them. If you ask me to stop later, if you beg me to, _then there’s a very high chance that I won’t_ .”  
  
Those words were enough to send a chill down Rodimus’ spinal strut, and he licked his lips, looking up at Megatron with a sudden wariness. He guessed - he guessed Megatron was right. Rodimus _did_ know that, and he had heard all sorts of stories of heats going out of control and both mechs involved getting hurt, or being pushed too far. Hell, that was what - what had happened the one damn time he went through a heat. He didn’t _remember_ it all, thank Primus, but he remembered… the pain, the humiliation. The feelings of _don’t want_ mingling with _do want_ and the laughter of the mech he’d happened across-

He forced those memories out of his processor and cursed, out loud and clear. Even that brief little flashback hadn’t been enough to dim the fire within him, even as he shook a little with lingering fear. He couldn’t have this - he couldn’t, he _could_ deal with this, and he was _going_ to deal with this, and he was _going_ to trust Megatron with this because - even if what Megatron said might happen _would_ happen, what mattered was that he wasn’t going to be… Be malicious about it. He wasn’t going to - to actively seek to harm Rodimus.

 _That_ was what mattered.

And he blurted that out right then, once he’d come to that conclusion. It was a jumbled mess of words that he wasn’t entirely sure made sense, but by that point a fog was beginning to creep over his processor. His words might have slurred a little, but at least he managed to get them all out. Megatron listened to him, optic ridge raised, and his optics flickered - gaze turning considering. Rodimus’ mouth clicked shut, his plating rattled before flaring to dispel some heat -

Then Megatron was kneeling before the berth - still so damn large - bringing them level.

Rodimus’ mouth went dry.

Large black servos - so damn big they would be able to encircle Rodimus’ waist - pressed down against the berth covers, on either side of his pedes. Not touching him, but just… there. Rodimus worked his intake, suddenly _unable_ to speak, and he met Megatron's optics.

Optics which were burning with desire. This close, Rodimus could taste fringes of his co-captain’s field - flicks of lust and want, so intense that it took all Rodimus had to not simply - spread his legs. He trembled and clenched his servos into fists, and after what felt like an hour of Megatron simply looking at him, he finally spoke. “May I touch you?”  
  
Rodimus’ engine revved, loud and sudden. The flash of embarrassment was shunted aside as Rodimus nodded his helm eagerly, and bit back a gasp as those large, large servos moved. The touch was faint, barely there, skirting across his pedes and up his shins. They lingered at the joints of his knees, tracing across seams and managing to wedge into large enough gaps to touch protoform, and the spike of sheer lust that bolted through Rodimus at the light touch was startling. 

Megatron’s optics met his. They held, as he ran his servos further up to grip Rodimus’ thighs. Fingers wrapped around the metal, firm and unyielding, and pushed. Rodimus was helpless to struggle against that strength - _didn’t want to_ \- and opened his legs under Megatron’s guidance.

It left his array completely exposed, and Rodimus trembled. His spike was still in its housing, deactivated for the duration of the heat. His valve was still very bare - stretched out wide around the false spike within him, and his calipers clenched down on it, wanting something more, something _better_. Finally Megatron broke optic contact, his gaze drifting down slowly, caressing his frame without touching, and alighted on his valve.

There was so much lubricant. It puddled beneath him on the berth, it coated his thighs with its pinkish tinge - and Rodimus startled as he both felt and heard the rumble of Megatron’s engines, and his field flash with sheer hunger and - Rodimus spread his legs further, without any of Megatron’s coaxing, leaving himself fully exposed and vulnerable. He couldn’t take his optics off Megatron, in-venting rapidly, urging without words for him to do something other than just _look_. 

And touch Megatron did. He didn’t go right for Rodimus’ array, not yet. His fingers lingered over seams on his thighs, tracing patterns that left pricks of charge in their wake, and slowly - too damn slowly - they inched closer and closer to Rodimus’ valve. It took all he had not to buck into the touch and demand he move faster, afraid that somehow this was simply a heat induced illusion and that too much desperation would shatter it - but Rodimus needn’t have feared.

Fingers grazed the plush, energon flushed lips of his valve, stroking over where it was stretched around the false spike, and Rodimus bit down on his lip in an attempt to hold back a whine. Megatron’s attention was focused entirely on his valve, something dark and hungry in his optics - and Rodimus brought a hand up in an attempt to muffle the noise that tried to escape him when exploring fingers grazed over his anterior node. His hips bucked, and suddenly Megatron was pinning him down easily on the berth with one hand, while the other continued its curious explorations.

Primus, that strength-

Meatron hadn’t even _done_ anything and already Rodimus felt like he was close to overload. Even more so, when he felt the spike move within him - Megatron had gripped the base and was slowly pulling it out, and Rodimus quavered when he found himself pinned by Megatron’s optics as well as his hand. Megatron drew it up and gave it a glance - not the biggest Rodimus owned, but it had lots of delicious little ridges and nubs that rubbed up against inner nodes. It had felt useless in the moment, but now Rodimus felt distressingly empty, and Rodimus opened his mouth, about to demand-

Megatron smirked at him. The bastard _smirked_ at him.

Then he was suddenly yanked forwards, towards the edge of the berth, and Megatron’s head ducked down, and all of Rodimus’ attention centered on the scorching hot sensation that was Megatron’s glossa raking over his valve lips.

The noise that escaped Rodimus’ vocaliser then could only be called a shriek.

He bowed over Megatron’s helm, reaching out to cling to it with trembling fingers. That hot, wicked tongue never paused in it’s motions - a long lave across the seam, a soft flick against his anterior node. Lips closed around it, and Rodimus cried out, grinding down against Megatron’s mouth, and he could feel the ex-warlord chuckle, the vibrations heightening the sensation. That glossa delved in deep, swiping over whatever inner nodes it could reach - and then Rodimus was overloading, charge crackling bright across his frame, his callipers rippling down on the glossa, trying to draw it in deeper. His vision glitched out, and he doubled over Megatron’s helm, clutching it weakly, hips giving tiny jerks as Megatron gently lapped up the spilled lubricant, and gave his anterior node one last, gentle parting suckle. 

Rodimus let out a choked noise at that, and didn’t resist when Megatron pulled away to appraise him once more. He suddenly felt like he’d been wrung dry, and could only stare silently into Megatron’s optics as he licked his lips clean of Rodimus’ lubricant.

He couldn’t help but shudder at the sight. Primus. He’d just been eaten out by _Megatron_. 

Megatron, who slowly rose up onto his pedes, all big and gunmetal grey, and leaned down, hands once more on the berth, caging Rodimus in. He placed a knee on the berth next, between Rodimus’ own splayed thighs, and rumbled, “Alright, captain?”

Rodimus’ vocaliser clicked a few times, until he managed to say, “Perfectly alright, Megs. Fine. Utterly peachy!”

Megatron huffed softly, an amused turn to his mouth, and he placed one of those large black servos on Rodimus’ chassis. His vents hiccuped, and he was pushed down flat on his back. Rodimus squeaked at the sudden change in position, a mix of excitement and dread churning in his tanks, and Megatron ran his servos down Rodimus’ sides before stopping to grip his hips. One stayed there, toying with a hip joint, while the other went further down, back to Rodimus’ valve, and absently began circling the anterior node. Rodimus jerked and let out a groan, shuttering his optics under that gentle assault, and he felt more than heard Megatron chuckle again.

“So responsive.” Megatron murmured, voice laden with static. A finger dipped down, pressing in between his valve lips, and it simply stayed there, circling the very inner rim. His valve clenched, causing more lubricant to drip down onto the mess that was the berth, and he grit his teeth and squirmed, onlining his optics to shoot Megatron a glare.  
  
“Don’t tease me - just get on with it!” He hissed, impatience rising at the stupidly _handsome_ smirk that graced Megatron’s lips. There was a hint of fang again, and it caused Rodmus’ engines to give another rev. He nudged Megatron’s leg with a pede. “The sooner you get on with it the sooner you don’t have to be here!”

Megatron laughed and bowed over Rodimus, holding himself up with a servo placed by Rodimus’ helm. It brought them close together, Megatron’s massive frame hovering over Rodimus’ form, and it brought their mouths almost within kissing distance.

Not that Rodimus wanted to kiss him. Nope. No sir!

“You’re acting like I want to get this over and done with.” Megatron mused, and that finger finally pressed in - pressed in _deep_. Rodimus gasped and arched, and Megatron leaned in to press a scorching hot kiss to Rodimus’ cheek. “On the contrary. I feel like savouring this opportunity, and seeing what kinds of noises I can get you to make before your heat runs its course.”

Rodimus gaped, words escaping him - and then he couldn’t speak even if he’d wanted to, as Megatron pressed his lips to Rodimus’ own in a kiss that made his processor spin. Those sharp dentae nibbled against his bottom lip, and Rodimus parted his lips without thought in a gasp that Megatron took swift advantage of. Rodimus’ world narrowed down to two points then - Megatron’s glossa, sweeping into his mouth and laying claim, tasting of his own lubricant, and that finger slowly working in and out of his valve, testing the stretch and give. Another finger worked its way in, and Rodimus whined into the kiss, the sound muffled by Megatron’s mouth. At some point Rodimus’ arms wound up wrapping around Megatron where they could, clinging onto him for dear life as those fingers began thrusting, scissoring, pressing against fluttering callipers and sensitive nodes, until Rodimus was seeing stars. 

A third finger - the stretch by then greater than what the false spike had been. Rodimus couldn’t focus on kissing anymore, instead only able to pant wetly against Megatron’s mouth as those fingers worked him open, building charge with careful strokes and thrusts. Rodimus was vaguely aware of a soft _snick_ , the sound of a panel opening, and a burning brush against his thigh.

Rodimus squirmed, cycling his optics, pushing at Megatron’s helm because suddenly he _wanted to see_ -

Primus, it was huge.

Rodimus worked his intake, valve clenching down on the thick fingers within him, imagining them replaced with that _monster_. Black and maroon plating, red biolights decorating the segmented edges, all sorts of delicious looking nubs and whorls and - 

Rodimus wanted that _in him_ , _now_.

“Hh - hurry up-” Rodimus gasped, voice breaking at the end. He tugged at Megatron, grasping at his plating, trying to urge him to hurry up and-

“Patience.” Megatron groaned, but the movements of his fingers were growing more jerky. So far, he’d been acting largely unaffected, but Rodimus deliriously hazard a guess that even Megatron’s great control was wavering. Just as he’d warned Rodimus, and the thought sent a sudden spike of fear through his spark.  
  
Megatron trailed his lips down to mouth at Rodimus’ neck cables and bit down hard enough to sting, and the mix of pleasure pain had Rodimus jolting with a choked noise. A fourth finger pressed in to join the others, eased by copious amounts of lubricant, and Megatron pressed in as deep as he could, grazing his ceiling node -

Rodimus’ vision whited out, and white noise rang in his audials as another overload crested over him. For a while there was just nothing. Heat, prickles of static as his audials rebooted, followed by the high, hard sound of his cooling fans working as well as they could. It took a few more minutes for his optics to online, and even more for his processor to catch up with his body and senses. 

He became aware of a low humming close by, a large hand gently running up and down his side. He squirmed, and let out a faint hiss as he registered something large and thick in his valve - Megatron’s fingers, he realised, and they slowly began to ease out of him, leaving Rodimus feeling wrung out and empty and _wanting so much more-_

“Meg - Megs, Megatron-” Rodimus raised strutless arms to pull and tug at Megatron’s helm, drawing the larger mech into a kiss that was too sloppy and uncoordinated to be anything good. But Megatron indulged him with a low groan, grazing his glossa with those sharp teeth before drawing away with one last lick, and pulled back so he could look down at Rodimus with optics blown wide.

Rodimus arched his body, demanding without words, and Megatron drew back to grip his hips and shift him into a better position. Rodimus’ legs spread wide, draped over Megatron’s thighs as the ex-warlord tugged his aft up, exposing his array. Rodmus shuddered at the first touch of that large spike brushing across his dripping valve. It clenched down on nothing, squeezing out more lubricant, causing Megatron to groan before he slowly - so damn slowly - began to press himself in.

Megatron had stretched him out well. The two previous overloads had relaxed Rodimus’ frame as much as it was going to. But even still, it was such a tight, _tight_ fit. Rodimus’ mouth hung open, soundless, as the head finally pushed in, those ridges and bumps scraping across nodes that felt too over sensitive from their previous activities - and then it was just a long, slick slide as Megatron worked his spike in. Rodimus’ vents hitched and hiccuped every time Megatron withdrew, only to slide back in with a little more than before. Rodimus’ servos scrambled to latch onto something to hold, before simply clenching in the berth padding. Slowly, he was impaled, inch by inch, until Megatron bottomed out.

The base of Megatron’s spike was so much thicker than the rest of it. That - that had to be a mod, right? That - if that was the mod Rodimus thought it was-

He brought his hands up, grasping for the broad expanse of Megatron’s shoulders, and Megatron leaned down, allowing Rodimus to grab hold. His large form was shaking, trembling almost as much as Rodimus was, his optics overbright, servos gripping Rodimus’ hips hard enough to dent the metal. But still - even still, he held himself motionless, allowing Rodimus to adjust to the sheer size of him, and groaned out, “Alright?”

Rodimus tried to answer - he really did. But at some point his vocaliser must have glitched out again, and he was having some trouble rebooting it. He managed a jerky nod, fingers scraping across the metal of Megatron’s shoulders as he adjusted his grip, and finally managed to reboot his vocaliser and say, “Yeah - yeah, y-yeah, totally fine, fragging brilliant a-actually, slag, you - your spike it - the base - is t-that-?”  
  
“A knot.” Megatron gritted out. “A parting gift from Shockwave, as I didn’t specifically request it for this body. I was not intending on using it, if you were worried.”

“Primus.” Rodimus whimpered and flexed his thighs, clenching down and shuddering as Megatron hissed. “What - what if I _want you_ to use it-?”

Megatron sucked in a startled vent and flexed his grip on Rodimus’ hips. “... If you truly want me to, I would not be opposed. You realise we will be - tied together for a while, yes? I worry you will - n-not be able to take the stretch.”

Rodimus gave a hysterical sounding laugh and squirmed some more, just to feel Megatron flinch and grip him all the tighter. “I can take it - I know I can take it, I _want_ to take it, Primus, Megatron you better fragging knot me-”  
  
Megatron groaned and bent over him, causing Rodimus’s back to curve inwards and that spike to press even deeper within him. His yelp was muffled by Megatron’s kiss, his thoughts wiped blank by every sweep and thrust of his glossa, and all Rodimus could do was cling to him and endure. 

Finally, Megatron pulled back, his optics bright and so very _hungry_ , and Rodimus registered very faintly that he should probably brace himself-

The sliding drag of the spike withdrawing had all the air rushing from Rodimus’ vents. The following, strut jarring thrust had him scrabbling for better purchase on Megatron’s shoulders. He only had time to wrap his arms around Megatron’s neck, before he was holding on for dear life.

Every thrust had him spitting static, small high moans and shrieks. As that spike stimulated every one of his inner nodes, hitting his ceiling node with unerring accuracy, Rodimus found himself approaching another overload with almost frightening speed. Megatron was relentless, hot mouth and wet glossa and sharp teeth scraping and laving at his audial, engine snarling fiercely, practically using Rodimus to chase his own growing release. His em field flared, hot and bright, drenched in lust and the need to claim, to make Rodimus his own, to plug him and fill him to bursting with his transfluid -

Rodimus felt it, the moment the knot at the base of Megatron’s spike started to swell. It began to tug at his rim, each time he pulled out and thrust back in, a constant pressure on the nodes clustered there, and Rodimus began babbling. Stupid words, nonsense words - pleas, Megatron’s name, garbled glyphs and moans. Megatron growled against his audial, his grip shifting - a servo hiked under Rodimes’ knee, bending his leg up, almost bending him in half as he began to drive his spike in harder and faster and -

Rodimus could see it - where they connected. The plating on his abdomen shifted and bulged a little every time Megatron’s spike made its home within his valve and that - the sight, the knot he could feel meeting more and more resistance as it swelled, the low ‘ _Mine’_ he just heard Megatron snarl in his audial -

Rodimus overloaded. His valve clenched down on Megatron’s spike like a vice, rippling and milking it, coaxing him towards overload as well, and snarled and buried himself in as deep as he could go, the knot swelling to full size, locking them together. Rodimus spat static, optical fluid leaking down his cheeks as the overwhelming stretch seemed to prolong the overload, electric fire coursing through his sensornet and sending it ablaze with sensation. Megatron wasn’t still - he gave short, jerking thrusts, grinding against Rodimus’ ceiling node, knot tugging against callipers and swollen mesh with every movement - and then all he could feel was the heat that flooded his already cramped valve, filling it to the brim with transfluid - and more so because the knot prevented it from _going anywhere_ -

Megatron kissed him again. It - it was all too overwhelming, too much pleasure, heightened almost to pain, and Rodimus sobbed into the kiss, clutching at Megatron’s helm like it was a lifeline. The kiss - initially rough and claiming, gentled to something that was almost soft. He felt Megatron shift, the pull tug of the knot that had him crying out, and then he was settled firmly in Megatron’s lap, cradled against his chassis, his spike still buried firmly within Rodimus.

For a while, Rodimus was in a daze. Small kisses peppered his helm, large servos stroked up and down his spinal strut. Low murmurs, soft praise whispered into his audials, coaxing Rodimus back to at least some form of awareness. He noticed a warning flashing on his HUD - when he read it, a strangled chuckle escaped him.

His cooling fans had overheated and were in the middle of a reboot. The heat coding was sated - for now. It would likely take a good few more sessions before it decided enough was enough. His gestation tank read as full too - Primus, how much transfluid did Megatron have in him?

The thought shouldn’t be as exciting as it was. A slight shift and a murmur, and he looked down - saw the bulge in his abdominal plating. His engine gave a weak rev, though at the moment he had nothing left in him, and he offlined his optics and leaned into Megatron’s caresses. 

That had been… great. Much better than Rodimus had ever expected. He let out a weak chuckle, and said in a voice that crackled with static, “See? Perfect control, Megs. I knew you had it in you.”

Megatron ex-vented hotly against Rodimus’ audial. “Has anyone ever informed you that you are a brat? We hardly tested that control, considering you never told me to stop.”

“Unnecessary detail.” Rodimus said flippantly and let out a content sigh. He flexed the cables in his thighs and curled his pedes, and hummed. “Primus that was great. I’m gonna. I’m gonna catch a… a quick nap now if that's ‘aight by you. Gotta. Gotta get what rest in we can, yeah?”

There was a quiet tsk, but Megatron’s field flared with restrained amusement. “Yes. I believe I’m going to have my hands quite full with you in the coming hours.”

“Damn right.” Rodimus said with smug pride, before giving in to the call of recharge.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

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